Onion Politics
by Broken-and-fallen
Summary: Ritsuka is older, Soubi's the same. That's mainly the reason the boy's so angry. Fluff, crack, general dumbassery. SoubixRitsuka. Drabble.


"See this?" Soubi watches Ritsuka dubiously as the boy slams a small doll on the table in front of him. It looked like – was that carved out of _onion? _Well that certainly explained why the boy's eyes were slightly red. "This, is _you_."

It takes the older man a few moments to digest the sentence.

"I'm an onion."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"…Why am I an onion?" he asks, his glasses slipping a little down his nose as he frowns with confusion at the small onion doll.

"Because-" Ritsuka starts hotly, then blinks at the doll and frowns again with renewed vigour. "Because I had no change at the Seven Eleven and like hell I was going to ask Yuiko if she had any dolls I could borrow!"

Soubi's lips slide into an amused smile. Ritsuka's ears twitch.

"Okay, so I'm an onion doll?"

"_Yes_."

"Why? Do I make you cry, Ritsuka?"

"Yes! I mean! – No!" Ritsuka blushes hotly and his fist clenches so tightly around the doll that small amounts of pulp gather between his fingers. "The onion has nothing to do with it!"

"Okay," he leans back more casually against the couch. Ritsuka was so cute when he was flustered, especially when he was trying to explain something with an immature logic. "Then why am I a doll?"

"Because I need to demonstrate what I want to do to you without putting it in action!"

There are a few moments of silent digestion. Soubi's amused smile is gone and he blinks – he glasses dropping onto the tip of his nose with a small _tap_. Ritsuka blinks as well, and then he's all red face and flat ears and gritted teeth.

"I DIDN'T MEAN THAT."

"I-I'm sure." Soubi berates himself for the stutter. _Fifteen, _he reminds himself. _Fifteen. _"Go on?"

He's not sure if he likes the way Ritsuka suddenly relaxes, a cold look in his eye and a _much too pleasant smile _on his face.

"Gladly," he says. Ah, he's still gritting his teeth.

Soubi can't help but flinch rather violently – he's sure for a moment he got a few centimetres off the couch – as Ritsuka starts to savagely beat the doll against the coffee table until all that was left was a pulverised pile of onion and what seemed to be a smaller pair of makeshift glasses. He realises he was clutching onto the couch cushions for dear life and relaxes, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses. Ritsuka was getting to his feet and he shrunk back against the pillows.

"FOUR YEARS," Ritsuka snarls. Soubi squeaks. "FOUR YEARS AND YOU HAVEN'T DONE _ANYTHING_." He then gives an undignified _huff _and strides out of the apartment. Kio seemed to think it was safe and poked his head out of the kitchen.

"What the _bloody hell _was that all about?"

"I'm… I'm _not sure_." The truth was that he did have an idea what Ritsuka was talking about (he was a fifteen year old boy for gods sake what else would he be thinking about), but didn't think it appropriate to talk about in present company. He leans forward and prods the smashed onion morosely.

"But I don't think we'll be having that soup tonight." 

--

Great. Now his hands smell like onion.

Ritsuka mutters savagely to himself as he runs his hands under the bathroom tap, scrubbing them vigorously with the coconut-scented soap Yuiko had made for him specially last weekend. Okay so _sure _he had been a little over-dramatic, but, damnit, he had every right to be angry! It seemed everyone was getting _something _except him. Hell, he had a man-slave to do his every _bidding _and he couldn't even gets kissed on regular occasions.

Ritsuka hears his phone vibrate against his bed and leaves the en-suite, wiping his hands on his pyjama pants as he flips it open with a scowl. It's Yayoi (when had he got his number?) and he was shrieking rather hysterically – an impressive feat since he managed to do it in capitals _and _with all the proper punctuation – about Yuiko's new boyfriend. Wait. Yuiko's new boyfriend?

He flips the phone open and dial's Yayoi's number, drumming his fingers against the bedcovers until the other boy answers with a devastated squeal.

"Hello, Yayoi." Ritsuka greets him back, deadpanned.

"HE'S TALLER THAN HER!"

"The boyfriend?"

"NOT EVEN AS GOOD LOOKING AS ME, OR _YOU_."

"Ah, the boyfriend, then. Is he nice?"

"HE'S ON THE SOCCOR TEAM."

"I asked if he was nice, not _stupid_. But that's also good to know." 

"HAVEN'T MET HIM YET."

"You can stop screaming now, you're hurting my ears."

"S-SORRY – oh, sorry." 

"So he's big, stupid, and we don't know if he's nice or not."

He wasn't jealous or anything. It was just, he didn't have many friends, and if one of them was in a relationship with someone who only wanted them for one thing (and Yuiko was prone to such people) he was going to find out about it and do what he could. Besides, Yayoi _really really _liked Yuiko. So much that Ritsuka sometimes worried if he'd have a heart attack over her one day. Ah, irony. Oh wait, Yayoi was still talking.

"- and he took her for _ice cream_. Can you believe that? ICE CREAM. I offered to take her for ice cream once, she said she was _busy_!"

"Did you offer to take her to Captain Swirlies?"

"… … …Yes?"

"Ah. See, Yuiko hates that place. She used to go there all the time when she was a kid until a clown stuck a chocolate flake in her eye."

"… … …"

"…?"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS?"

"You're screaming again, Yayoi. And because your love life is none of my business." 

"It should be! You seem to know more about it than I do!" 

"Well its not like you don't broadcast it enough." He leans to the side and sticks his arm under the bed, scrounging around.

"… I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Hm." Oh _god _what was _that_. Slimy and - JESUS it was moving. That wasn't what he was looking for. 

"Coming from the guy who's been getting picked up from the school gates by a _much older _man since he was like, eleven."

Ritsuka snorts, finally surfacing with the box of Pocky he knew he had horded under there.

"As if anything's happening."

"Could've fooled me."

"What's that meant to mean?" he snaps off the end of his Pocky rather savagely. The danger must've been in his voice because Yayoi was exclaiming again.

"Well it's just! You two are always exchanging, _you know_,"

Another snap. "What?"

"…_Bedroom eyes_."

Ritsuka suddenly inhales a flake of strawberry and spends a few moments clearing his throat.

"WHAT."

"You are! And every Thursday? After sport day?"

"Yeah…?" Though he had a thought what Yayoi was hinting at. After sport it was way too warm for them to be wearing their coats – or their shirts for that matter. Half the school usually wandered around in singlets for the rest of the day sweating.

"He's always staring at you… you know, _weird like_." 

"Weird like." He repeats. He hadn't noticed _that_.

"Uh-huh. Even Yuiko sees it! She says whenever we meet him at the gate he goes this funny colour and walks just a bit away from you on the way home."

He shakes the box irritably but nothing falls out. Damn it.

"You guys really have no lives, don't you." 

"Serious! Just don't go judging my botched love life before you look at _yours_."

"Who says its botched!" that got his attention. Yayoi the little bastard! They may be fifteen now but at least he was a little taller than the other and he could easily kick his ass if he got annoyed enough. _Botched_. Pht.

"OH MY GOD."

"What is it _this time_?" He wouldn't be surprised if Yayoi had to take Ritalin every morning.

"Y-YUIKO. SHE'S OUTSIDE. WHAT DO I DO."

"Try answering the door."

"OH HA HA VERY FU – YUIKO!"

There's a lot of pleasantries and awkward laughter on the other end of the line. Rolling his eyes, Ritsuka snaps his phone shut, knowing he's lost the boy forever.

"Ritsuka, honey?"

He looks up, chewing on the remainder of his last Pocky as he stares at his bedroom door.

"Are you awake?"

He wasn't. To her knowledge, anyway. He waits out the good half hour his mother whines and pleads against the bedroom door, hysteria on the corners of her voice, before she gives up and disappears down the hall.

Yawning, Ritsuka tosses his phone onto his bedside cabinet, wondering if Soubi will bother to call.

--

Soubi doesn't call. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Ritsuka doesn't call him either, because _damn it _now the Fighter's started something and he was going to win it. Whatever this competition was. Something to do with pride, in any case.

He's sitting on the balcony of his classroom at lunch, Yayoi on his right and Yuiko on his left, and their legs are dangling off the edge as they swap bento contents from the nearest 7 Eleven. Yayoi occasionally glances at Yuiko, and Ritsuka doesn't miss it, but he's going to give the boy some time to gather up his own courage to tell her to dump her dead weight of a boyfriend.

"Soubi hasn't picked you up for a while," Yuiko says thoughtfully, tapping a painted nail against her lips and tilting her head. "Did you two have a fight?"

"_No_," Ritsuka growls, mostly to himself. "We're _having _a fight." He shoves a bit too much rice into his mouth and chokes slightly. He doesn't miss Yayoi's snort and thumps him on the leg, not gently. Now that they were fifteen, he could _do _that and they could all be comfortable with it. They were _all _pretty comfortable with each other, now.

"Maybe you should kiss and make up," Yayoi continues, and lets out an unmanly shriek, covering his head as he's attacked rather savagely with a pair of recyclable chopsticks. "_Kidding!_"

"Seriously though," Yuiko adds desperately, as always trying to keep the peace, "You guys can't stay made forever. Soubi really likes you!" 

"Yeah well he has a funny way of showing it," Ritsuka mutters back, and they leave the matter at that, but he does subtly slip a hand into his pocket when he thinks he feels his phone vibrate, and he's a proper level of disappointed when he realises it hadn't.

--

They're heading out of school when Ritsuka sees him leaning against a sakura tree texting someone on his phone. Who he's texting becomes apparent when there's a sudden violent vibrating at his thigh and Ritsuka releases an undignified squawk, halting in mid-stride between Yayoi and Yuiko and hopping on one foot while digging his hand into his pocket, swearing under his breath. He really should stop keeping his phone in his pants; it scared the hell out him most times.

It's a bit stupid, he knows, but he quickly ducks behind a group of girls loitering around the gate and flips the phone open, ignoring Yuiko's inquisitions as to _why are you hiding there, Ritsuka? _And Yayoi's whining.

_-- I'm making dinner tonight. Four Cheeses pasta and apple crumble Y/N:) _

He glowers, and damnit, his face is growing hot.

"Is it Soubi?" Yuiko asks, and then – "Oh! SOUBI!" – and begins waving erratically to the tall blonde as he makes his way across the path.

"_Oh Soubi,_" Ritsuka mimics in a high-pitched whine, making a face. _"How smart and pretty and __**dumbass **__you are – _OH, hey," he quickly regains _some _maturity (because someone has to around here) and glowers at Soubi, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

"Hello Ritsuka," Soubi smiles, pleasantly, but a bit strained as he notices Ritsuka's still not quite happy with him. "I just messaged you."

"Oh, did you?" he tosses his head to the side, his ears twitch backwards. Soubi has to restrain himself from scratching them, because it's _cute _but also _dangerous_. Like seeing a 'DO NOT FEED THE ANIMAL' sign at a children's petting zoo.

Yuiko opens her mouth, but Yayoi saves her the trouble.

"But weren't you just-"

"HEY!" Ritsuka starts waving as a tall boy in a soccer jersey walks past and waves at Yuiko. "YUIKO'S BOYFRIEND GUY!"

"WHERE!?" Yayoi shrieks, forgetting his point entirely as he looks wildly around. The boy gives Ritsuka a confused look, and Yuiko raises her eyebrows, placing a nail against her lips as she thinks for a moment.

"But he's not my-"

"I know." Ritsuka scowls, and walks away.

--

"That wasn't very nice," Soubi comments lightly as he follows Ritsuka, easily keeping up with his stride. Stupid long legs.

"Neither are you," Ritsuka snaps back, and Soubi sighs.

"Too young, Ritsuka, I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"Believe me, I _am_." And there's a genuine grievance in Soubi's words and Ritsuka can't help but let a wry smile appear on his face.

"Mm, maybe. Doesn't mean I forgive you, though."

"Well I think I have something to cheer you up."

Ritsuka opens his mouth with narrowed eyes but Soubi cuts him off –

"Not that. But we are having Four Cheeses pasta tonight."

"So? I bet it's just the same as all your other pastas…"

"Not quite. This has an important ingredient," Soubi raises his hand and there's a small plastic bag there that Ritsuka hadn't noticed before. His nose picks up the scent of… garlic? And his ears twitch. His nose goes pink.

"You want to help me cook, Ritsuka?" Soubi asks, a small smirk on his face. "If you practice hard enough, one day you might be old enough to cook dinner yourself."

"Old enough?" Ritsuka asks. He smirks. His isn't as playful as Soubi's. "Really? You think so?"

"One day," Soubi promises, and loops an arm around Ritsuka's shoulder.

--

He only cuts himself on the hand twice when cooking the pasta. Cutting onion is harder than he thinks it is. The first time Soubi kisses the cut. The second, Soubi kisses Ritsuka. Later, Soubi burns himself on the pot when pouring the pasta into bowls. Ritsuka leans up to try and kiss him then, but he gets a strong whiff of onion and his eyes immediately sting and water, and they both dissolve into unstoppable laughter when they realise they forgot to add the most important ingredient.

_**The End**_


End file.
